Untouchable
by TangledUpLies
Summary: Something about them just cannot be matched.


Hello! To all the lovely people who reviewed and favorited _Toxic_, thank you so much! Y'all deserve a cookie! That was my most reviewed story which made me super happy and extremely grateful. And after _so_ many second guesses because I'm so critical of myself, this story came out decent enough to post… I think, lol. There was no intention of doing this, writing a second part, but I thought of a few scenes and desperately wanted to build upon them. Thus I started writing a few days after I posted the last story and wrote what I could with my iPod filled with pretty music, following Thomas' and Paget's Twitter, _Atonement_ (the novel, which I hope everyone reads at least once) and more poetry. I truly tried hard to make this flow in connection to _Toxic _since it is a second part, but some things just wouldn't happen. Perhaps they might be a little slow at first and a bit fast at the end, but they were at a good pace for me when everything was being thought out. It also came out a little long because I kept adding and deleting during my countless and obsessive edits which is perhaps why I doubt myself just tiniest bit, especially with the ending because that was _most_ difficult to write overall. I came up with three different endings, another reason why this took a while, and results became a big chunk of cheese, in my opinion, if it is compared to what I had written in the part one and everything else. I didn't plan on that, or as I embarrassingly admit getting teary eyed when I first wrote the last few parts because it wasn't even remotely sad, lol. Yet regardless of all that, I do hope people like reading the entire thing as I took great joy and frustration in brainstorming and ultimately completing it. My apologies for any lingering mistakes found because I zone out sometimes and do not catch them all, lol. And with that, please be wonderful readers and remember to review with comments, thoughts and even suggestions because all those three, and more, are always welcomed because I would love to know what you think as well as finding ways to improve. Thank you!

And secondly, I don't know if I will be able to write another story before the year ends since my writing tends to die out of nowhere when it chooses, lol. Execution to my thoughts is the key. But if I don't, I hope it's alright that I just thank everyone who has read, reviewed and favorited my stories. You've made part of my year and my first time posting on this site such a delight! And I apologize that everyone wasn't thanked when I first started. However still, even now, I remain so very appreciative from the first to the last person who reads and likes what I write and just wanted to say thank you once more for being awesome. =D

* * *

**1. Puzzles**

Life's (love's) a puzzle, isn't it?

The fragments (the moments) comes in their own unique shapes. They come in their own blend of colors. They come in their own different sizes.

They come with their own purpose, and in the end, the goal is obvious.

Find how everything fits. Find the pieces with the matching shapes, colors, sizes and put them together.

Side by side for however long they will stay until the puzzle is complete.

Each fragment (each moment) is part of something bigger, something overwhelming, and (hopefully) something beautiful.

**2. Wait**

Two weeks.

That's how much time Aaron Hotchner needs to wait after the morning she had left his apartment telling him she wouldn't mind the dinner, that she'd like it.

(That faint curve on her face remains present in his head even after a while- tucked neatly and securely under the work and Jack in the back of his mind.)

He apologizes for the wait when he asks her if the Saturday two weeks from now would be good for her. (Jack had requested for a next weekend of zoo and museum activities while he wrapped his short arms around his neck when he had picked him up on Sunday morning. He gave his son a kiss on the cheek and told him with a chuckle that they could go wherever he wanted.)

But Emily Prentiss softly smiles at him (a little bigger than the one that remains in his mind) because she understands (knows) his son comes first.

And with the same soft smile, she tells him that she hopes he has his fun with his son, and the Saturday two weeks from now that he suggests is just as good for her as it is for him (even if she does remain nervous and scared of the simplicity of dinner with him).

**3. Challenge**

The box with all the puzzle fragments usually comes with the image on the front. Large, colorful and complete, the image provided is how the final product is supposed to look like.

But this box, their box filled with pieces of this (their) puzzle scattered and jumbled together, that he begins to build now, doesn't have image to follow along. There is no guide.

Nor does he expect one either because he knows that they have been some sort of amazement.

Everything between them and about them has been unexpected.

So this final product will be his and her surprise.

And he likes the challenge. He welcomes it.

**4. Tie**

No tie.

When it's Saturday night and Hotch gets ready to take her to dinner, he chooses the silk navy tie to go with the powder blue dress shirt. The motions to perfect the fabric around the collar are like clockwork because he wears one of these everyday to work.

But then he unknots it after three minutes.

It's a little too suffocating for him.

He unbuttons the first two buttons of the powder blue dress shirt.

The pressure of the tie around his neck combines with the knots in his stomach already forming now.

He needs to be able to breathe tonight.

**5. Anxieties**

After a twenty eight minute mental debate with occasional mutters to herself, Emily chooses to return to her first choice. The cap sleeves with a revealing, but not revealing too much, neckline to right at the edges of the black satin push up bra she hooks on underneath little black dress. It's short, not too short though because she thinks she might be too old for too short, but two inches above the knees she believes is good enough.

(This dress she didn't buy for the dinner with him. She never did that for any dinner with anyone. She had bought it months ago on a Sunday afternoon with JJ and Garcia, but had placed it in the back of the closet alongside the half dozen of little black dresses she owned.)

Her hair she leaves it shiny and straight past her shoulders with her bangs brushed to the side to frame her face after spending some time applying a thin coating of mascara to her lashes and a light rose color powder to her cheeks to accompany the cherry hue of her lips.

And she decides without question and doubt about the shoes she will wear because she slips her feet easily back into the pair of Louboutins she knows he loves (he didn't need to say it to her; she figured it out when he had asked about them that night).

She studies her appearance in the mirror.

Emily will not lie.

Because even if it's the simplicity of dinner with him on a Saturday night, even if they've done more than dinner already, even if a part of her is unsure (frightened) of what is happening between them, she wants to look nice (beautiful) for him.

**6. Irises**

Irises.

Hotch buys her irises.

Holding onto the small arrangement of irises, he glances down at them because he is feeling his palms slightly moisten since he recalls again; it's been over twenty years since he has taken someone (a woman) out to dinner. He doesn't know if he's being old fashion with the irises before he reminds himself that he _is_ old (nearly half a century) so that'll be his excuse for the old fashion tendencies if she questions it.

He wonders if she'll like them, the irises, because when he decided to buy her flowers, these caught his eyes instantly.

Dark violet. (He's always liked the contrast to her porcelain skin whenever she wore the color.)

Wisdom. (She has that.)

Courage. (She has that too.)

Hope. (He hopes this night goes well. He hopes they will go well.)

Friendship. (Whatever happens tonight- even if he does want it to go smoothly- he wants them to be friends underneath everything else.)

Passion. (He feels it with her.)

Compliments. (They go well together because he remembers that every time he's in her, they fit completely.)

Irises.

One (or a bouquet) iris means all of that, and he smiles because it's a good (perfect) match for her (and them too).

**7. Fifteen**

He feels like he's fifteen once more with the flowers in one hand getting ready to knock on the door with the other. He's simply (or not) taking her to dinner. So with a deep breath, he knocks three times. It's eerily quiet outside and within for a minute (he thinks it's his nerves) before he hears heels clicking against wood floors. (On the other side of the door, she takes her own deep breath and smoothes out the imaginary wrinkles on her dress.) And then moments later, her door is pulled opened, and she stands before him, a timid curl on her face as she nervously tucks her thick raven locks behind her ear.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Their night (Them) is just starting.

**8. Beauty**

He thinks that perhaps half of the beauty about her (them) is the uncertainty that surrounds them now.

**9. Favorites**

She loves them, the irises.

When he hands her the small arrangements, her heads lowers just slightly for a brief second because she feels her cheeks growing flushed.

Emily senses his nervousness once her eyes are back up at him. It's mixing with hers.

Irises, they're her favorites, she informs him with a soft bashful beam on her face.

**10. Sweet**

In the car as he drives and they talk about the music that's playing (it's The White Album), he realizes she smells different (in a good way) from all the other times they've been close.

She lets out a low chuckle when she reminds him of the conversation on the jet that afternoon.

His attention is off the road to her momentarily, and Hotch catches Emily smiling faintly at him.

The scent is sweet, but not overwhelming. It just dances around her, around him. He imagines smelling it before.

He can't pinpoint it though.

**11. Houston**

They're seated at a table in almost the middle of the restaurant.

"Do you remember the last time we were opposite of one another like this?"

She's not testing him; she's merely curious if he knows what she means, what she recalls seeing him across a table with only the two of them.

It takes him a minute, but then Hotch remembers that backless grey charcoal dress she wore. He thinks of how contagious her smile was that night as she (they) played along when they were supposed to be looking for the serial killer from the speed dating parties.

"Houston."

His simple response causes her cheeks to grow warm (again) underneath the light blush and the dim lights of the restaurant as she tenderly pushes her hair behind her ear (he wonders if it's a nervous habit of hers).

Emily grins slightly at him (he's returning the same gesture) because he's correct before she slowly turns her gaze downcast to the menu in her grips.

**12. Austen**

Hotch learns that her one of her favorite movies is _Pride & Prejudice _(she enjoys the book as well).

She has seen the movie about a dozen times because if she could pick a day and place to be in, she tells him with a shy laugh, she would go back to then.

**13. Novels**

Amongst the various books of law he keeps on his shelves and in the bottom draw of his desk under the classics of Shakespeare and Dickens, one of his favorite novels is _Atonement_.

Besides Kurt Vonnegut (especially _Slaughterhouse-Five_), she loves Márquez's _Love in the Time of Cholera_.

**14. Revolver **

And despite his love for The White Album, his favorite song is "A Day in the Life" and he has a soft spot for their Revolver album as well.

**15. Steps**

It might seem like a dinner from high school asking one another about the music he and she enjoy, the books they can find themselves drowning in, what they like to do when they do not have the work around (he enjoys those moments bonding with his son)**- **frivolous and common inquires really.

But for them, it isn't.

It's a step (a good step into that change he knows and remembers he wants happening with them) to discovering the little things that make her and him up.

**16. Mask**

He smiles (a lot).

He laughs (a lot).

The seven little lines forming at the corners of his eyes (Emily deems them lighter when he does both) are very apparent. His lips, the pair that she has kiss, tease, sucked and bitten, they thin out, showing her his neat, straight, and pretty much perfect teeth. And his dimples, depending on how much he is smiling or laughing at the moment, makes an emergence she feels herself stare at for a second or two too long.

The mask of stoicism he likes to wear is no where in arm's length.

He's showing her his face.

And she likes (loves) what she sees.

**17. Beatles**

That Beatles song plays in his head as they walk side by side nearly an hour and a half later.

Their steps are in leisure and in unison (he doesn't know if she realizes, but he does and feels a tug on his heart strings anyway).

He hears her talk, followed with a sweet laughter, but he's thinking of that Beatles song (line).

_I want to hold your hand._

Hotch wants to.

They have kissed on the lips and on the flesh, they've seen each other naked, they've had sex and explored every part of one another all over, but he's never held her hand.

**18. Standstill**

"You look beautiful tonight."

They had been walking in silence (it wasn't uncomfortable), listening to the chatter of the crowd surrounding them and the sounds of the tires running on the roads when he whispers it to her (she had been slightly busy noticing their steps- in sync and small).

Emily keeps her head low, her focus on their continuing in sync and small steps because she feels her cheeks under the city lights; under the light rose color powder across the very areas grow warm (once more) and crimson rapidly.

And though he had told her she was beautiful in Hartford, told her she looked nice in his apartment, when he tells her she looks beautiful in the present time with someone, anyone, having the chance to eavesdrop into the words he only wants her to know, she feels her world coming into a standstill.

She raises her head back up a minute later (she wonders if her cheeks have returned to the light rose color powder because she feels only a lingering warmth), turning her attention back to him and his solid but soft eyes as she quietly replies amid her stomach filled with butterflies.

"Thank you."

**19. Courage**

When she's telling him about Greece (she wants to visit there) because he mentions to her that he has enjoyed some Greek mythology, Hotch (finally) reaches for her hand (without looking) because after contemplating for the last sixteen minutes he finds the courage to do so.

Emily tenses, her steps slowing, but not stopping (this causes his to slow, but not stop as well) with her breath caught in her throat as her voice seemingly trails off for the moment because she knows they've never held hands (she sounds juvenile like a school girl, but it's the truth). And the feel of her hand in his with their fingers cautiously interlacing with each other feels (really) good.

They fit. Like their bodies, their hands fit too.

He's staring down at their hands, together for the first time, and even with his head lowered and his attention away from hers, she thinks she sees a developing smile present.

And then his head is lifted up with his interest back to her (she is not mistaken with what she thought she saw), their gaze locking as she manages to find her voice again to finish telling him about the country she wants to visit.

**20. Truth**

He has heard some of the best things are the simplest.

When her hand is in his, the easiest form for human connection, Hotch believes (knows even) that it just might be the truth.

(Their hands stay together for the remainder of their walk and talk.)

**21. Unexpected**

Their night ends when it's near eleven and once Hotch parks his car in front of her brownstone; he gets out first to open the door for her (for the fourth time of the night) because he doesn't think chivalry should be dead in the world. (And what she thinks, but doesn't say is that she notices it, yet she honestly wouldn't expect him to act any other way.) He walks her up with his touch resting on the small of her back the entire time their feet move up the cement stairs. They stand before one another, both feeling the anxiousness rise up once again even after dinner with a night's walk and talk as he had held her hand for the first time.

"I had a good (wonderful) time tonight," Emily enlightens him with a smile, looking down at her shoes, hiding the blush that would be momentarily creeping in. Her heartbeat quickens.

"Yeah, I did too," he whispers quietly and nervously with his lips forming his own small smile. Even without the tie, he feels his throat shutting briefly.

Her eyes are brought back up quickly after, and she asks what people their age would probably ask once a good (wonderful) night is over (and because what usually happens next they've been there).

"Would you like to come in… for some coffee?" Her voice is timid and her hands wave slightly.

That small smile present on his face spreads a little, and she feels her cheeks continue growing ever warmer in the night.

"I'd love to, but I can't. (He really wants to because he wants to keep learning something and everything about her.) I'm going to be up before dawn. I promised Jack we'll be the first ones at the park tomorrow morning." (He's not lying, but he is nervous and this comes to his mind.)

"Oh." (She wonders if this is rejection- his way using his son.)

"But maybe next time if you'll like…" His voice trails away (he hopes he hasn't offended or upset her because that is the last thing how he hopes for the night to end).

Hotch holds her stare for a moment (she says nothing) before he takes a tiny step forward, his hand placed firmly on her tiny cloth waist while he leans into her with her own hands timidly, but almost instinctively, reaching to clutch his sides. And when Emily expects his lips on hers soon, they slide over an inch and a half to touch her left cheek instead.

They've kissed on the lips and other places of the body already, they've seen each other naked, and they've had sex, experiencing one another all over.

So when his mouth is not against hers after a good (wonderful) night, she is surprise.

**22. Reasons**

Hotch has his reasons.

It's not because he's lying that he didn't like (love) their dinner. It's not because he doesn't want a second dinner with her because more than anything he'd love a second dinner with her. If he can, he would ask for a third, fourth, fifth dinner as well (he believes he can count on and on).

But it's because he wants everything of (for) her. He wants to treat her properly (a part of him still feels guilt and shame for how they ever began, taking advantage of her, using her and stealing from her).

He wants to take one step back even if they've already taken ten steps (together) forward.

And that is why his lips touch her left cheek instead.

**23. Understanding**

They're against one another, cheek to cheek, motionless for what seems to be forever until he turns his head slightly, brushing the tip of his nose against her velvet skin for twenty two seconds, inhaling that scent of something sweet but not overwhelming he doesn't believe he can forget now. Emily meets his eyes instantly after (they're smiling at her, and what she sees glistening in his eyes is accompanying that slight upward curl that forms from his lips).

And she figures him out because sometimes when she looks at him, he is an open novel for her to read into what he thinks and what he wants to do (with her).

What she read at the moment is that he wants to, but he won't (yet) because he wants things to work out between them. He wants them to be slow now; just a few steps back because they had ran before walking. Their gazes fix on one another for a little longer in a soothing silence surrounding them until she feels the heat building in her cheeks once more (she thinks she might have lost count since their night began) and cocks her head to the side as she agrees softly and steadily.

"Next time then."

**24. Thoughts **

On the Monday after their first dinner, each one of them is given paperwork from three previous cases. They're left as a gift, piled high on each of their desks (but he has more because he is the boss).

Emily sits at her desk, writing and typing dutifully, surrounded by conversation between Morgan, Reid and herself.

Hotch stays in his office with the door ajar, reading over what is has been handed in and signing all the dotted lines.

But in between the papers scattered on their desks, the reports she must complete, and the signature he creates in one swift stroke of his black pen, they think about one another.

**25. Interruptions**

On their second dinner in a picturesque bistro six days later (one of her favorite places Emily enlightens him with a coy grin- she doesn't cook often because she can't cook- when they arrived) they're settling into their first glass of red wine with a platter of cheese and French bread (another favorite of hers) with smiles and light chuckles.

But then his phone buzzes when they're talking about France (her time there, her knowledge of the language because the French words, however their effortlessness, she had whispered in his bed when he asked about her Louboutins still reside in his mind). The glass of red wine in his hand is reluctantly put down and he murmurs a quick apology to her because Hotch knows it's rude. She tells him it's alright with a smile because it really is. And when he stares down at the number, she hears the sigh from him but remains quiet, waiting until he's finished with whoever is calling.

"No, it's alright… Yes. Are there any leads?" (The moment she hears this, Emily knows the night is over.)

He avoids her stare as he speaks because he's aware she knows. Their life, no matter what they're doing, will be filled with these interruptions.

"Call everyone else, (he includes Emily in this because they haven't told anyone) and let them know… Okay. I'll see you in thirty."

Hotch presses the red button ending the call and brings his gaze back up to her. She should be expecting a call from her dearest media liaison. He murmurs another quiet apology, but Emily chuckles still because he has nothing to apologize for. She accepts that this is part of their jobs, their life, so she takes her final sip of the night from her glass of red wine before she gets up.

"So where are we going now?"

**26. Splenda**

They find themselves in Oklahoma City because three women are murdered after forty eight hours of rape and torture.

The first night they're there, no one sleeps much. Every one of them is exhausted because they've been awake since the sun had risen eighteen hours ago. But another thirty minutes they agree to give. So it becomes another comb through of the evidence, the possibilities, and for a moment, even the fear that rises in them all.

Hotch spots her in the tiny conference room at the end of the station with her head in her hands, staring down and absorbing the information from the open files before her. Emily doesn't hear him walk in (she's too tired and his steps are quiet). He sets down a warm cup of coffee with a spoonful of Splenda he knows she enjoys with her drink.

"Coffee… it's decaf," he whispers to her with a gentle smile (she still needs to sleep when they get back to the hotel, so until then, it's decaf) when she looks up startled.

He walks away seconds later, not waiting for her simple thanks (he doesn't need one anyway) and proceeds back to the whiteboard where everyone stands.

And after he leaves, Emily stares at the warm cup of coffee beside her. For a flash of a minute amongst the horrors of the information soaked into her head, she feels her lips forming slightest smile for the first time since they had began the case because she remembers the coffee she had given him (unexpectedly) in the past.

She brings the cup to her lips and takes a slow sip of the warm liquid. And once it hits her taste buds and glides smoothly down her throat, Emily smiles a little more when she tastes the Splenda.

**27. Resume**

Five days later they return from Oklahoma City and a day after that, they resume their second dinner at the same picturesque bistro (her shy request which he agrees wholeheartedly with a tiny grin).

And they still don't kiss on the lips (yet) while they stand in front of her door when their night ends.

**28**. **Somewhere**

On their third dinner (they don't- haven't really- used the word date) eleven days later after completing the second dinner, they have good conversation with laughs and smiles once more dining at the new Italian restaurant over delicious wine and pasta.

And afterwards they wander again up and down the streets because she reveals that she likes (loves) to walk and talk with him.

It's nice and comfortable, and each step they take to nowhere in particular is somewhere he and she want to be.

**29. Instincts**

Their hands are together once again because after leaving the restaurant (that was almost thirty minutes ago), when they stood too close whilst they wait for the lights to change from green to red, his hand had gingerly caught her elbow before sliding it down to its destination.

Her fingers gripped onto his without a second thought.

**30. Shine**

Under the city street lights when she smiles, when she laughs, her eyes shine.

**31. Belong**

"Do you see yourself in the job forever?"

Emily turns her head to him beside her, and Hotch stares back attentively because he has always wonder if she can leave after all she has seen and felt. He wonders if she has any more parts of her left to give.

She looks to the ground and says nothing at first; contemplating the single question he asks, feeling his gaze shift between the ground and her. She's unsure if the question is supposed to be answered with a one syllable or with an explanation, but she decides on the latter. And after a brief moment Emily responds as their eyes fix together once again. "I don't know… maybe. You know that I wanted this job (Hotch nods with this because he remembers her telling him the job wasn't just a whirl for her), and really, I don't have any reasons to leave. Mostly everything I do is around work." She slips a loose curl behind her ear wondering if she just made herself sound lonely to him with her last sentence. But she speaks still, her voice growing softer, lower while her eyes shift away from him. He leaves his stare on her nevertheless. "Honestly though, since the beginning, I've been working _so_ hard to prove myself to _so_ many people (a part of her silently in her head includes him in this category because she recalls all the doubts he had of her) that I could do this job, and that I wouldn't fail right from the beginning, I don't think I can leave. And I think with the last year or two… I actually found somewhere where I belong."

And what Emily doesn't tell him because now she has stopped speaking, unsure if she had revealed already too much of herself, is that somewhere to belong was (is) one of her biggest desires.

**32. Centimeters**

He kisses her cheek once again (after he declines her quiet offer of coffee because he wants to wait just a little longer), and she imagines that his mouth has moved a centimeter or two closer to her own.

**33. Magnolias**

In Alexandria the temperature is high, the air is muggy and thick, and the sun is bright. Three women are murdered in their homes.

The connection they find is a flower shop they all had been to in the last seven weeks.

Hotch goes with the sheriff to talk to the owner, an old widower in his sixties. And when he walks in, the aroma of the various flowers in his vicinity mixes with one another. They ask for the owner and the woman in the front tells them he's in the back, but she'll get him for them. He paces around, his watchful eyes coming across different selections and colors of petals. He finds irises in the corner and takes a step closer (he remembers that these are her favorites), but his attention is soon diverted to the abundance of white flowers beside them.

Magnolias.

They're the state flower.

Their scent goes up his nostrils.

It's sweet, but not overwhelming.

And it's familiar, looming over his head as he works in his head to figure out where he has smelled this before.

(The owner arrives, taking him out of his walk through memory lane, and they ask him if he has anyone else besides the three women Garcia finds that he employs. He tells them no; it's just him and them and their occasional delivery men of seeds and fertilizer.)

When Hotch returns to the station, she is there, back from the assignment he had sent her on. And in time Emily steps next to him, asking him how'd it went and what he thinks when he remembers that that familiar sweet, but not overwhelming scent was from her and their first dinner.

**34. Raindrops**

On their fourth dinner three days later, it rains. It has been raining since Thursday night, with the raindrops hitting the pavement hard and against the windows loud. But they still decide on the dinner together.

Emily wears a scarlet dress

(It's sleeveless with a sweetheart neckline, hugging the outline of her hourglass figure with the length right to her knees.)

And when Hotch sees her in that scarlet dress she's wearing, his eyebrows raise three centimeters high while his mouth dries up like that night in Houston as she bites her bottom lip to suppress the smile wanting to breakout.

She will not pretend that _that_ was not the exact reaction she hoped for.

**35. Jelly**

The raindrops are still falling when they stand in together at the front of her door after a play (a surprise) and dinner. Their hands are together too. And when Hotch leans in to kiss her on the cheek, Emily's bold (perhaps it's the dress and the color and all that it can convey), but a little afraid nevertheless because she turns her head just as his lips is about to touch her cheek once more like dinner's one, two and three. She seizes his mouth gently within her own and their kiss, the first they've shared since that night in his apartment, has her (and his) senses heightened.

It's tentative, slow, and tender and with the raindrops falling behind them, the scene is like how she (and he) has seen it pictured in the commercials for the sweet romantic movies.

Regardless of the pace he wants to take this, take them, take her, regardless of how delicate the situation is and their awareness of it being overwhelming, but seemingly impossible to stop, Emily will not lie that she has missed the taste of him. She has gone longer without kissing him (the time between that night in Baltimore up until that night in his apartment when she dropped him off was the longest she approximates in her head).

And now when she is kissing him after the second longest period without kissing him, Emily feels her knees turning into jelly.

**36. Ready**

Hotch freezes for what seem like minutes until he reaches up, letting go of her hand and cups her face all the while slowly pulling her closer around her waist. With passing seconds, she grips onto the lapels of his jacket while he gradually kisses her back, remembering the taste of her because it has been a while since he has kissed her on the mouth.

He has missed it, and he hasn't forgotten it, this wonderful taste of hers.

Sucking gently on her top lip, he hears a quiet sigh escape their lips. Her head tilts to the right just for a few degrees to deepen the kiss. But he pulls away his mouth from her almost unwillingly a minute later. He makes no indication to let go of her face though, but only lightly presses his forehead to hers. And then a jagged exhale followed by a quick and nervous laugh leaves her mouth while she opens her eyes to him.

The hands gripping on his lapels loosen while she shifts her eyes from his steady gaze to the maroon tie (she wants to laugh how they both wear a version of the red color for the night) he wears (the pressure from the tie and the knots in his stomach didn't suffocate him tonight) and whispers with a timorous grin, "I know you wanted to…"

Offering her his own grin within seconds, she sees the slight indentations on his face under the pale yellow light above her door. He is still holding her close to him.

For a tiny moment he recalls back to their first dinner when he kissed her on the cheek. The reasons he does not forget because everything has been about making sure he and she took the right steps to them.

He had planned on the sixth or seventh dinner (he has no idea why) to finally kiss her, but when Hotch looks down at her, her cheeks flushed, her eyes scanning him, he realizes that she made the first move again.

So when he leans down to softly lock her lips with his for one last parting kiss to seal the night, and she makes no move to turn away from him, Hotch thinks that maybe that part of her, the nervousness and the fear she (and he) finds herself (and them) surrounded by could be possibly vanishing, ready for whatever it is to come with him and them.

**37. Certain**

The puzzle is building up nicely. He likes (loves) what he is seeing so far, what their moments and parts of her and parts of him can change into when they're together side by side.

He hopes it's not too early because he judges (certain even) that the puzzle (them) will be something.

**38. Forces**

In eleven weeks between the work they do and his time with Jack because she never would want him to disappoint his son, they have (count) dinner's five, six, seven, and eight.

And with dinner's five, six, seven and eight when their nights come to an unwelcome end, (he continue to declines her coffee offers, but it's always with a smile) their kisses deepen a little more every time because what they feel surrounding them and what he feels for her combining with what she feels for him are pulling them closer and closer.

**39. Crash**

She won't lie that she's still a bit afraid of crashing. Crashing into him, crashing into them, crashing into the world of possibilities that comes through being tangled with him, into him with strings, a part of her is afraid to crash.

**40. Yellow**

There's a case in Vermont two and a half weeks after dinner number nine and one day after dinner number ten when four teenage boys are found strangled in the woods during a ten day span.

Hotch also finds out that yellow leaves when it is autumn are her favorites during the season.

**41. Apples**

Where they stay at for three days when they are in the state with the yellow leaves she loves looking for the person responsible for the five murders (one more was found dead hours upon their arrival), apple pie is the specialty in the tiny inn because the fruit is an abundance on the grounds.

It's late for the quaint town where everyone knows everyone. And when the sun will be up and shining soon on the fallen autumn leaves in a few hours, they will be bound on the jet back home.

But until then, they sit close in her room at the corner table, sharing a slice of apple pie with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream (apple pie ala mode) because she can't sleep, so he keeps her company.

(And they both know, but won't say, that this company is much different than how they used to keep one another company. They don't mind though.)

**42. Borrow**

She reads _Atonement_. (It's his copy- hardcover with the binds broken in and worn into wrinkles because he has read it too many times to count.)

On the jet when everyone, as well as he because his eyes were simply too tired to keep open for once, Emily stays awake in the back of the jet by the small window with the one light above her illuminating her small space and a cup of herbal tea on the table reading the novel that is one of his favorites.

**43. Aaron**

The first time she calls (says) his name was that night in Baltimore (the first time they had sex) when she was begging him to drive deeper and go faster into her. And any other time afterwards when his name had moved across her tongue and escape from her mouth she thinks back was whenever they were in bed (feeling him in her, reaching into places inside her as her senses and thoughts had been placed in a blender) using one another for comfort, for company.

However, now, it's not so much anymore. Now, they're becoming something. What, she doesn't know if there is a right term for, but it is something.

She feels (knows) it.

And what they're becoming when they don't have the work around them, when they're not with the five other people they would call their family by their sides, Emily starts calling him by his name.

It was nearly difficult (weird) as first, she'd admit because she was used to Hotch. She was used to 'sir' (she was his subordinate after all). And she was used to his first name only when they were in bed.

But it's different nowadays because they don't simply have one another in bed. Because every now and then they have each other outside when they walk and talk after a dinner. They have each other when it's nightfall in different cities when they sit by one another (close) and everyone, but them, are asleep.

Aaron.

It takes her a bit. It takes some getting used to, but after the passing time, the two syllables that make his name leave her mouth seamlessly.

**44. Time**

On dinner number eleven, it's her birthday.

Last year she went out to a bar with JJ and Garcia and she tried drowning the fucking and forgetting they did for another time in his apartment with tequila shots for almost an hour.

This year she sits with just him in the picturesque bistro (the one from their second dinner because Hotch doesn't forget that it is one of her favorites) as they share the passion fruit tiramisu discussing the past and present.

**45. Parallels**

It takes her eleven days to finish the novel.

As Emily sinks her head back into the large pillow propped up by the corner of her couch while flipping close the book, she's instantly imagining, seeing and playing the scene in the library (she's never seen the movie) on bottom of page one hundred twenty five to the top of page one hundred twenty six of chapter eleven in her head.

And when her eyes shut, she sees him (and them).

**46. Realizations**

In Casper (they were searching for a lonely man who wanted to fill his dead wife's shoes), she knocks on his door when it's nearly midnight with _Atonement_ in her right hand.

(Under her shirt, beneath her skin and flesh and just below her bones, her heart beats loud and hard for her to hear in the empty hallway.)

The knock takes Hotch out of his thoughts (of her) and out the messy bed before he treads through the hotel carpet to the door. He finds her figure through the tiny peephole before noiselessly pulling the door open.

"Hey."

"Hey."

The door is widened a bit more for her entrance, but she still brushes a little against him with her left arm. He notices an item in her hand as he watches her walk deeper into the room towards his window. Once door is shut, his feet slowly move to her. And when he's into his eighth step, Emily turns around to meet him in the middle. Their bodies are close; her chest just grazing his with her eyes evading his.

"Thanks for the loan." She smiles softly, bringing the book up and between them.

"You finished it...did you like it?" He whispers the question, taking the item from her hand.

"Hmm… I did." Her words are short as she slightly nods simultaneously.

Hotch shifts five steps to the left, his careful eyes never leaving her while putting the book on top of his go bag before returning to stand in front of her. It's silent for minutes and he wonders if something's wrong (she feels her apprehension radiating off her body). He places his hand delicately on her hip.

"Are you okay?"

Emily's on her toes without any hesitation (the apprehension remains in her though) after his question, catching his lips in hers. Her hands move to the back of his head, fisting his hair. He's startled for a moment before slowly responding, cradling her face and neck with one hand while an arm wraps around her to compress their bodies together as he's returning the emotion pouring from her mouth. Then he carefully parts her lips with his tongue and she allows him in easily whilst letting out a satisfied noise.

And for the few minutes standing in the middle of his room, they are attached by their mouths with their tongues in a tango until she gently (nearly grudgingly) drags away with him nibbling on her bottom lip.

Her breathing is labored as she opens her gaze to him, struggling to use her trembling voice when she questions him.

"When you told me you wanted to take me to dinner that day in Newark… you felt something. Something was happening and you already knew. That was why you asked me."

The words she speaks are familiar. His brain is in an instant overdrive to figure out the words until he remembers the book on top of his go bag. (Cecilia, Robbie, and the library scene suddenly begin burning every nook and cranny of his brain.)

Hotch continues holding her close to him, a hand still clutching her face as he leans his forehead down to hers, their eyes even on one another. The tips of their noses touch as he draws in a deep breath. Her own breathing finally finds a steady rhythm but her heart remains pounding underneath her shirt beneath her skin and flesh and just below her bones as she waits impatiently for his answer.

"Raleigh." Emily closes her eyes.

(She remembers the night too well and how much she wanted –needed- him after the case. She thought she could have let everything pass, she would have felt better with the minutes ticking away, but she couldn't and she didn't. All she felt was the numbness and the pain eating her away and crawling down that path to him was the only thing that made any sense to her.)

His eyes remain open however, his thumb beginning to rub her cheek. "When you left, I was awake."

(He can still recall her hard lips on his when she left. But it's the soft kiss she left him he still actually feels.)

And all Emily does is simply nod before she captures his mouth once more.

**47. Want**

"What do you want?"

"You."

**48. Ease**

For the first time since that night in his apartment months ago when she surprised him, Hotch finds his way (in) to her again.

And for hours, he holds her when she's not holding him. He memorizes her when she's not memorizing him. He savors her when she's not savoring him. He's relishing, as well as she, every wonderful feeling flowing through the human body when he rocks his hips with her tight and wet around him.

**49. Quiet**

Hotch doesn't want (need) to say anything when it's quiet between them. He cherishes the quiet they always find themselves in (walking, sitting, and even now after) these days. It's comforting and something about the quiet that he used to worry between them isn't that anymore.

It's a good thing.

The quiet lets him look at her; closer than with noise and words would ever allow. Closer than maybe he should because sometimes he thinks what they could be (are) changing into might still be scaring her.

And if she does ever ask him if he's scared like her, of what they could be (are) changing into, Hotch will admit the truth. He will not hide that he's a little scared too because he doesn't know if he's capable of having another someone constant in his life. He failed at that once already. He doesn't know if he's good enough for that, for her.

But he will try because he wants (needs) her in his life.

Until then though (if that moment ever happens), he will keep all of that to himself (he will not add to the remaining present inhibitions) because he's just going to look at her a little bit closer in the quiet.

**50. Labels **

He labels people all the time. He's a profiler.

There is a sadist here. There is a pedophile there. There is a misogynist in this city. There is a narcissist in that city.

It's his job to put these labels on people.

Yet when it comes to her, he doesn't (want to) label her. He doesn't call her his girlfriend (a side of him doesn't even know if she is). Girlfriend seems too small of a label for her at any rate though.

She makes him happy. Her touches, her lips send him chills, making all the little hairs on his body stand upward. Each discovery he comes across about her, he finds he only wants (needs) more of her, of them. Something about her, someone like her, he doesn't dare (maybe it's even impossible) to define. (He remembers how he used to search for her warning, the one she does not have.)

Labels might ruin her (who she is and what she does to him). (Labels might ruin them too- what they're doing, what they're slowly becoming.)

So instead, Hotch will not use labels when it comes to her (and them as well). He doesn't think anything will be appropriate anyway.

**51. Compartmentalize**

She's a master at certain things.

Compartmentalizing is one of them. She learned it in high school. When all she wanted to do was to fit in and find a place for her fifteen years old awkward self among everyone else, she learned to compartmentalize because she allowed herself to be used by anyone and everyone who would look her way.

She needed to deal with the sadness. And along with that, shame and pain were soon stringed beside it, and she didn't (couldn't) deal with it, so Emily stuffed everything she felt in the tiny black boxes and locked them up.

But they eventually burst opened.

When the blue plus sign jumped in front of her on a Tuesday afternoon, the tiny boxes with everything she felt, everything she locked up, and everything she pushed into the corner of her heart, her head in the tiny black boxes ultimately exploded.

**52. Accumulations**

He's always wonder. Ever since she first mentioned it that Superbowl weekend years ago, he wondered how that would work. He admits that he hold in his own a fair amount (unlike today however).

But she's different, Hotch believes. He's never seen it like how she does it.

So in Kansas City two weeks later when she sits against him, her back to his chest, on the loveseat couch with half a glass of bourbon in their hands, he asks her because he remembers the pair of siblings who were kidnapped in the light of day and the volume of his voice when he yelled at the sheriff who asked for their assistance, but wanted everything done his way while finding himself thinking of Jack when it's night presently because he misses his son.

"Does it work?" The ice cubes in his glass clink against each other as he takes a gulp of the bourbon.

"What?" Emily leans further back into him, pushing her head to his neck and underneath his chin.

"Compartmentalizing… does it work?"

She's hushed for a few minutes before her low voice fills his room and his ears.

"Yeah… it does." Emily runs finger carefully around the rim of her glass.

Her answer is hardly above a whisper, but Hotch hears it because she feels the nod above her.

The silence that was there before his question was asked resumes. He places his glass next to the lamp on the little table that filters their area with a dull light. His hand immediately and intuitively goes around her as he closes his eyes.

But in that silence and in his arms, her mind thinks back to high school, to the first time when she told him and JJ that maybe she compartmentalized better than most people, to last year when sleeping with him meant burying everything beyond six feet. She reflects on those moments and the consequences that went along with of all of that. Her abortion, the wondering if anything she ever does with the work will ever make any difference in the world and the tears she had let out that night in his apartment when she showed up unexpectedly and found herself imagining in the possibilities of them if they stopped fucking and forgetting.

"Except… it's only for a while." The gentleness and cracking of her voice startles him, causing his eyes to almost fly open. "After some time, the pressure builds up. All the emotions are piled up and those boxes that you place everything in don't close because it's too much. Then eventually, it hurts."

**53. Journey**

Emily shifts her head to his pillow. Hotch edges an inch or two back from her, giving her extra space. He wants her there, this near him. They remain like statues in the quiet, observing one another.

Those eyes that he once considered endless, in addition to being undecided if it was good or bad thing, he deems that it is a rather good thing now (just like the quiet). Her eyes, they're like a journey. Just like Alice and the rabbit hole, this (she) is his awaiting journey ahead ready to be explored and discovered with time and he's excited for it.

**54. Peaches**

The first time Hotch tastes her skin wet is on a case in Savannah.

Warm water cascades down his back because after ten minutes under the spray, Emily pulls him under so he can get wet as well. And then she is on her toes, giving herself some extra height so she can nibble on his ear lobe before trailing her lips down and alongside his jaw line. But in a matter of a minute and a half of teasing him, she is sandwiched between his body and the cold wet shower tile wall as he raises her.

Her legs immediately wrap around his torso, her ankles crossing behind his back. She lolls her head to the side for easy access as his mouth locates the pulse on her neck. Her eyes shut while she hums a melody of satisfaction with a smile on her face. He finds a path to her collar bone, nuzzling his nose and mouth to the dampen skin. She grinds once against him, and the light chuckle from him on her skin causes her to whimper aloud. And then he finally moves his trip down to her ample breasts. Her moans compete with the sounds of the spray when his tongue flickers on the water droplets dripping from her tense pink nipples (even if the water is warm, when his lips touch her, a chill overtakes her body).

Peaches, he thinks her skin tastes like them when it's wet.

Succulent. Sweet. Delicious.

And Hotch deems it fits because they are in Savannah after all.

**55. Emily**

Her name isn't special. She never considered it. It's just five letters from the twenty six letter alphabet put together. There are millions of other girls that share the same (first) name as her (Emily Dickinson, Emily Brontë- those are just some of the famous ones).

She's just one Emily out of them all.

But when he says her name (whether it is to get her attention when she's lost in her running thoughts, whether it accidentally slips from his lips when they work close together or whether it's because he's releasing himself into her and her name dancing out his mouth in between short gulps of air is to let her know what she does to him feels incredible), then she thinks (knows) her name is special. The five letters from the alphabet are an ideal match with one another. The ways the letters are formed and sounded together are a sweet melody when he says her name. Those million of other girls that share her given name (even the famous ones) are no more because when her name rolls off his tongue and out his mouth, he makes her feel like the only Emily in the whole world.

**56. Haven**

She is in his arms once again (one of her favorite places to be now) because in his arms, Emily feels she believes is every good feeling (she always goes back for a moment to that time when she first felt that good feeling that night in his apartment when his arms wrapped around her) there is possible to feel in the world. (And in his arms, she finds herself belonging here now.) It intensifies every time afterwards. Warmth, trust, safety, peace and something else Emily feels wanting to be form on the side of her mind, in the center of her heart, and the back of her tongue, but does know if she should allow it because she's still herself and they're still them so she will not lie that what is continuing to happen between them scares her still a little.

**57. Coconut**

It takes him a while but Hotch figures what her shampoo smells like as his nose buries into her raven sleek locks when she stays in his arms. Its coconut, and on some days (usually when it's rainy), there's a tiny whiff of vanilla.

**58. Payback**

She (likes) loves his tongue.

When they kiss, his tongue prods into her mouth. Whether he does it slowly or forcefully, without roughness (sometimes) but with fervor (always), her body begins to tremble while her head spins.

It always seems to grow longer whenever and wherever he tastes (savors) her core (just like this time in Montgomery).

He's going to play with her (with her control using his tongue because he tells her no hands just like she had did so once upon a time when they had been simply fucking and forgetting in Jackson she recalls very clearly).

Hotch lowers his face down to the triangle that forms because her legs are tight together. The tip of his nose nuzzles the soft smooth skin and she whimpers, already beginning to feel her insides rippling. Her scent is subtle at the moment with her legs like this, but he soon moves his hands to rest on her thighs. And with a little muscle from him because she knows what will happen, he spreads her and keeps her still because his touch, his next move always makes her breaths, her body quaver. Her shoulders rest on the cheap motel pillows, but her head rises slightly even when she knows it (he) will be hitting it soon. Emily wants to observe him as long as she can, as far as she can while she feels his lips trace her inner thighs. Closer and closer to her warmth with feather kisses until his head disappears from her sight because he has arrived at his destination (when she thinks this, she lets out a small laugh to herself because she makes this sound like a trip for him and his tongue when ultimately it'll be a trip for her because she'll be going over the moon), Emily tries her best to breathe deeply, laying her head down on the pillow as she shifts her eyes to the ceiling.

Emily expects it, for his tongue to be in her soon, but he makes her wait (tease). His nose buries into her for just one long moment, inhaling a scent that is intoxicating and uniquely hers. And whenever Hotch believes he hears those breaths almost level out, he finally makes his move into her pink and wet heat. (He chuckles quietly to himself at this moment facing her center.) His tongue drags across her small bundle of nerves before he begins licking the moisture that has already been forming with pressure and time. Her hips raise, her back arches with her ribcage just barley visible. She exhales sharply, almost even hisses, when his tongue pushes through the now soaking folds, finally slithering and swirling into her hot and inviting opening.

(For the time, Emily resists the temptation to hold him in place and shoving him deeper with her hands because she remembers the rules. No hands. Instead, she attempts to keep him still by and in her as she carefully brings her legs over his shoulders, the heels of her feet pushing into his back before she's gently clamping her thighs briefly around his head because his grip has loosen, having his work, his focus on elsewhere.)

"That… feels… fantastic," she manages to murmur in between gasps.

Her eyes give up now and close. And in a matter of moments, she is imagining the scene between her legs (his taste buds coming in contact with her moisture and leaving a glisten to his lips). The sound of his tongue, his mouth lapping into the depths of her aids the visuals in her mind and fills the room as he hungrily devours her.

(Now he realizes that her legs have moved, and he spreads her legs open once again. The grip on her thighs is firmer, but never hurting her. She groans in displeasure at his action, but it is soon replaced by forthcoming moans as he curls his tongue like how he curls his finger sometimes.)

And when Hotch slowly retreats, cleaning his lips with her taste using the tongue covered in her (this only fuels his appetite for her) before plunging in once more, she feels the hurricane overtaking her body. Her thighs under his hold tremble, her toes curl without delay as her eyes open with only the whites visible. Emily bites her bottom lip (she reminds herself that they're in Montgomery), grips the crisp bed sheets and thinks of only one thing.

Payback is a bitch.

**59. Details**

No detail on the tiny puzzle pieces he is handling with his large hands is ever too little. Each curvature, every shade of color present, and all the lines that may be printed on the small piece specifically cut cardboard is important to building the completion.

No detail on (and of) her that he is touching, learning, and studying are ever too little. From every miniscule freckle on her flesh to everything she simply enjoys when she's not working, to each curvature of her body (her breasts, her waist, her back when he dives into her, her hips and how her legs curl when she sleeps on her side), to every shade of color her body can get (rosy when he beats into her, ivory when she sleeps, and a glow to both of those shades combined when she and he stand in the shower together surrounded by the hot water and steam) is important to how she impacts him.

**60. Reflection**

When Emily lies on her back and he lies on his stomach with less than a foot between them after in Toledo, (the covers are over their lower body parts because it's cold outside and nippy in the room) they stare at one another in silence.

In the dim fluorescent glow from the lamp, his eyes always appear darker (she recalls all the times she has kept her eyes on him when they had sex).

And when she's staring into (at) them (him) for that long while, Emily begins to see her reflection.

It's there with the outlines in a bit of a haze.

But then she sees a blur. It's not her reflection though. It's something else. The blur is close behind her, her reflection. She doesn't understand why it's there. She doesn't understand what it is.

Hotch moves closer until he's above her. Emily arches her back into the slightest bend so he can snake his arm around her. Their hard nipples press into one another. She feels the tiny protruding scars of Foyet molding into her stomach. Foreheads touch with an unbroken stare.

Her reflection in his eyes with the little hazy outline becomes clear, almost like crystal.

And that blur close behind her, the one she didn't understand, is him.

**61. Aftermath**

In Austin nine days later her back is to his chest with his body outlining hers completely. The arms around her naked waist are secure with hands clasped just the same way. Hotch buries his nose into her hair, inhaling the coconut scent and whiff of vanilla because it has been raining for the last two days. And when he bows his head slightly, placing a feather kiss on the exposed area of the nape of her neck, she asks something he and she never discussed, never considered even when they first entered into this, into them.

"What's going happen when someone finds out?"

(About her being in his bed, him being in her, and them together working closer than the badges they carry tells them to work.)

He says nothing. And in the quiet when he is contemplating what she inquires, Emily begins to feel her heartbeat quicken, waiting and wondering (hoping) that he has an answer to her question. (She doesn't understand and he doesn't see the glassiness forming in her eyes at the moment.) Her hands reach for his hands, covering them with hers. He makes no hesitation in unclasping his hands to lace his fingers through hers before having them back once again around her.

And in the quiet they remain for another few minutes until he heaves a sigh and regretfully whispers, "I don't know."

**62. Meanwhile**

The daylight rays peak through the thin patterned curtains. She lays on her stomach with her arms bent a few degrees from a right angle tucked underneath the large pillow. Her sleeping face is towards him hidden behind the falling dark tresses. Hotch hears her quiet breathing in room through her slightly parted mouth. He reaches out, his fingertips lightly removing the strands of hair obstructing the view of her peaceful appearance.

Her lips are pale and pink in the morning. Her lashes are still curled; long and even like that night in Hartford when he first (accidentally) told her she was beautiful (that night is stained on the walls of his mind).

Their time together will be over soon. The secret of one another will be buried again. They are still them when the day breaks.

Work. Rules. The inevitable if someone finds out.

Hotch knows all of this, but kicks it to the side because for right now, for the moment when he does have her, he's going to just watch her a little longer.

**63. Milestones**

He continues to take her to dinner (even if it's almost been ten months since dinner number one) whenever they find the right time because he doesn't want to stop learning something and everything about her.(On a couple of occasions, Hotch takes her up on the coffee she finds herself offering still, even if the beverage isn't always served.)

And the counting of the dinners continues because each one of them, Emily likes to imagine are a tiny marking point for them in their own way.

He doesn't dispute it.

**64. Burdens**

"That night in Portland when I apologized, I meant it."

He still carries it. The weight of the guilt of everything he had done to her, everything they had done together. That continues to remain on his shoulders even after the many dinners, walks and talks, and whenever they are in bed together now for the simple reason that he finds himself once and a while remembering how they began.

When Hotch looks intently down at her every time while she is squirming beneath with her walls narrow and soaked encasing him entirely as their lungs are fighting for more oxygen or when she mindlessly grab his hand when they are close together before laying her head on his shoulder, he feels (knows) they are (better than) something good.

The sincerity she picked up that night is apparent in his voice, his words presently. But unlike before, she will not be cold, shrugging any of it off.

"I know." Emily bites the corner of her bottom lip (naturally red in tint at this time and a bit plump) and with a short pause continues, "But I'm a big girl. I made my own decisions."

She recalls she was the first to kiss him. She made the initial move under the night sky and dark room in Baltimore. And despite the state she was in at that moment, kissing him was the only option she knew (felt).

He lets out an exhausted sigh before his eyes close. She touches the side of his head, running her fingers gently through his short hair.

"And I didn't do much to stop it, did I?" His gaze opens towards her again. "So don't apologize to me. (You have to stop feeling guilty.) It is as my fault as you think it's yours. It was what it was," she whispers with a faint smile while pressing their warm bodies together.

Because this is what it is (has become) now.

**65. Fate**

Emily's not a big believer in fate, in destiny. She doesn't think that everything happens for a reason.

Those are for only fairytale stories and fantasies.

But maybe for them, their past, the using of each other, the sex with no strings attached, no matter how much it did hurt, no matter how numb she became, no matter how much he might guilt himself for his actions still, it needed to happen.

That was (part of) their fate.

To get them here, her in his arms, in his bed or her bed like now, with the inhibitions he and she feel slowly dwindling down (to almost nothing), maybe that just had to happen.

**66. Borders**

Borders of the puzzles are like walls. Closing everything in, holding everything up, and making everything on the outside look neat, clean, and straight; that's what borders do.

It's what he thinks when he's putting the pieces together.

Her borders (walls) do the same thing. Closing her in, holding her up, hiding what she feels, making her appear happy and neat so she can tell everyone she's fine, she's okay; that's what her borders do.

It's what he doesn't know (yet) when he looks at her.

But once those borders (walls) are broken through, down and crumbled to the ground, by accident or on purpose, she can't hide what she is feeling. Everything isn't straight and clean and she can't pretend to everyone she's fine anymore, that she's okay because everyone can see now that she's simply not.

That's when he'll know.

**67. Cyrus**

Emily sees his face when every now and then still. Sometimes when she is at home, sinking into her own bed and wrapped in her own covers, she sees his face when she tries to sleep.

But every time she steps into that state, they intensify- the image of his face. She can't escape him when she closes her eyes, and she thinks about dying too much when her eyes do close, so she just keeps them open. (Even when they're open, she thinks about dying, but having eyes open at least allows her to see everything before she dies, she tells herself.) She thinks she doesn't make any sense to anyone (him), but to her, everything makes sense.

What she's imagining and thinking is clear to her, so Emily doesn't sleep.

She simply can't.

**68. Confessions**

They find themselves in Colorado once more because murdered fathers are found alongside the roads for two weeks.

Unlike the last appearance to Colorado, they're not simply fucking and forgetting anymore. No anger is present in their words when they are alone, but pleasure because what they are remains growing stronger, which he and she feels (and something more).

But there is one (minor) similarity because Hotch finds her awake again on the fourth night. This time though it isn't in the hotel bar but his hotel room by the large sliding window when it's five to two in the morning according to the numbers on the nightstand.

She's donned in his shirt. (He's never told her that the sight of her in his clothes makes him smile. It makes him want her more because she looks simple, natural. The shirt is always loose on her naked frame. It's a good sight that is embedded into his mind.)

"It's nearly two." The information from his lips startles her and a sharp gasp escapes from her mouth before she turns around to meet his sleepy and tired face.

Emily takes a quiet and stable breath before informing him like he remembers she did last time, "I couldn't sleep."

There is sadness (maybe even dread) lacing in her voice of her statement, and it takes him four seconds until he slowly sits up, pushing his slightly worn out self up before running his hand over that sleepy and tired, but now awake face. He throws comforter off his naked body and finds his boxers on the floor next to her white slippers and the gray sweatpants he pulled off her legs hours ago.

Hotch makes his way to her on the couch, and sits beside her. She makes no movements to close the few inches left between them. She stays in the corner of the love seat, her naked long legs bent and pressed to her chest, and with her sitting position he sees the black lace panties she has put back on (He loves lace on her, but it's another thing he never tells her either.)

"Go back to sleep. I'm sorry that I woke you. I didn't mean to. Just get back to bed."

It sounds (more or less) like a command. He ignores it though because he nevertheless remains in place with his focus on her.

"How long have you been awake?"

He believes he hears an exhausted sigh from her before she answers solemnly, "I don't know."

Regardless of her answer, he doesn't move a muscle back to bed and they sit in the loud silence, her not looking at him while he continues to observe her.

And after the long while, she finally twists around to him because his stare on her makes her _need_ to look up at him (his eyes, his stare does too much to her, she realizes) and Hotch notices her glassy eyes. For a fleeing moment, he remembers what he asked her that night in the bar when they were in the state last time.

"Are you having nightmares?"

Emily lowers her head and slips the fallen raven hair from behind her ear back and in the hush of their surroundings, he hears a pathetic scoff. A minute later, she raises her head up to him again and offers him a tired smile. Her eyes remain glassy. She makes no attempt in wiping the evidence away because he has already seen them, seen her in this state.

"I'm not weak."

She insists.

"I know."

There is no hesitation.

"I don't like being the damsel in distress."

She believes she has said those words to him once.

"I know."

(And Hotch knows this of course; he knows this because he recalls that morning after in Raleigh when she said those words to him after she had came to his room late in the night pleading for him to fuck her and he had forgotten that they didn't talk about what they did behind closed doors and in bed together.)

She resumes her silence once again and looks down at the shirt covering her body, her fingers fumbling over the small white buttons.

"I don't… sleep much... when I'm in Colorado..."

(It's her confession and her telling him because he sounds concern doesn't make her angry like it did the first time he had asked that question.)

When her words register into his head though, he's briefly confused because he does not know or understands what could be keeping her up.

Emily. Colorado. Emily. Colorado. Emily. Colorado.

Then he realizes she almost died in this state and how he heard the determination in her voice when she was telling everyone (him) that she could take it (she would be alright). She wasn't afraid. She knew what she was doing.

The remaining space disappears as Hotch shifts, pulling her to him. Emily instantly nuzzles her head into the curve of his neck while biting her bottom lip, quieting the sniffle that wants (needs) to escape because she wants (needs) to not cry.

That's the last thing she wants (needs) for herself to do because she feels her ridiculousness (stupidity, really) in crying about it even after all the time has passed. And a fraction of her, despite the ever growing discoveries of each other and the closeness they are succumbing to, does not want to cry because of his presence.

She's not weak. She doesn't like being vulnerable.

Not in front of others and not in front of him.

But he only remains silent holding her, his hand gently running up and down her arm because he's well aware what she wants (needs) to do.

And when his lips soothingly touch her forehead, she (and he) feels the warm tears.

**69. Unravel**

He finds a set of pieces (he counts thirteen) that fit together. He removes them to the side to assemble. He connects the matching hues (white with specks of blue and one spot of red- her skin with her tears, and what he believes is shaped like a heart), the correct curves, and he finds a part of the completion.

Passion is not her only fear.

**70. Awake**

In the hotel room residing in the state she doesn't sleep much in, her tears settle and she insists he go back to the warm bed to sleep because she's fine. Emily removes her head from the crook of his neck, and puts an inch (or five) between them.

That was the first time she had allowed herself to shed tears about it even after so long and that was what she honestly wanted (needed) to do. To cry a little (or a lot), she feels the weight off her shoulders. But she refuses to look at him presently because a (large) piece of her is embarrassed as she whispers to him to go back to sleep once more. This time though he gets up slowly, sliding her body heat from his chill body because he remains shirtless and a part of her thinks he might be listening to her words this time. As he makes his way to the bed missing two bodies, her eyes move along with his movements and watches as he picks up the white cotton shirt to pull over his body and shield his scars before grabbing hold of the comforter and tugging it back to where she is on the couch.

And then Hotch is back beside her on the area he sat seconds ago. He envelops them both in the warmth of the thick covers. Her head is buried back against his neck like it did so before. His arm slithers around her (she believes she's twice as warm as he because she has the covers and him) and inhales her coconut shampoo.

It's calm in the room. It's calm outside.

Every corner in sight is sleeping but they stay awake.

"Aaron," she whispers later on. (He doesn't know what time it is then because he hasn't checked the clock since he first woke up).

He only nods, and she feels it.

"Thank you."

**71. New**

They sit there on the couch, only moving once in a while to bring the other closer, if that was even achievable. Emily feels (is) glue to him. (Hotch doesn't complain and neither does her because she feels safe and all he wants is for her to feel safe).

And there they remain sitting, continuing to look out to the outside world until they are both seeing the sun peaking through the horizon. He smiles at the new day.

It's a new day for him. It's a new day for her. It's a new day to maybe put that past that is haunting her when she wants to sleep behind her (he'd help her with that if she wants to). It's a new day for them, and he realizes that if she had died, if all the words she said through the little microphone had disappeared because all she thought she could take was too much for her and that she needed to be saved instead of allowing herself to handle it, she wouldn't be here, covered, shielded by him.

"Emily," he speaks softly and the arm around her stiffens as her bent legs cross over to his thighs.

"Yeah." Her voice matches his while her own arm about him tightens.

For a while he doesn't really know what to say because all Hotch thinks now is the horror of losing her (and Reid) that night. So the only thing he thinks of under all the resurfacing vision of first seeing her when she walked out the compound and sounds of her groans with her steady voice of those few days are the words he remembers from that night that she _really_ touched his scars.

"I'm glad you were okay."

**72. Halfway**

This puzzle, their puzzle, is halfway done.

Or perhaps it exceeds that point.

He's seeing more of her. He's seeing more of him. He's seeing more of them.

**73. Inescapable**

Whenever they're not together, Hotch thinks he smells of her. It's that fragrance of the magnolias that he now knows of (and that she seems to wear more often when he told her in Jacksonville the smell of the Louisiana flower on her is something.) That sweetness (Emily) is trapped in the fabrics of his clothes and seeped into the pores of his skin.

**74. Beats**

Her heart beats hard when he's against her.

He feels it.

His heart beats hard when she's against him.

She feels it.

When their breathings don't match, when her eyes are close while his remain open, or when her eyes are open while his remain close, their hearts, they beat together.

**75. Trace**

Her hands rises, her touch finding the starting point right below his left eye, outlining the dark circles underneath. Then slowly she glides her fingertips across the faded lines on the corner of those eyes down to his cheeks and over the few pale freckles. Her graze brushes the area where the indentations would appear when he smiles, even if lightly. She trails the soft stroke across the lips she cannot get enough of.

They see each other (almost) everyday, working side by side when it is light, walking and talking closely when they find time at home and sleeping closely when they find opportunities in different cities and states at night.

But even so, even with all of that, she finds herself still tracing his face because she doesn't ever to forget it.

**76. Impossible**

Hearts and minds have battles.

These battles are constant because those two parts of the human anatomy _never_ agree on anything.

Her heart over her mind or her mind over her heart she has debated every now and then when she is alone and wide awake in her bed. She doesn't know what she would rather have, what she would rather keep if she was given a choice. To feel or to think and remember, she has difficulties in deciding which would be the better option.

If someone carved opened her chest, slowly ripping her heart from right beneath her left breast, she knows she wouldn't be able to feel anymore.

If someone cut around her head, lifting up the cover protecting her brain and plucked it out of its place, she would be feeling every moment slip away.

Her head lifts gradually until her lips are only centimeters away from his very pair, and she inhales sharply at that continuing lingering scent of something woodsy and coffee with the tiniest hint of peppermint when his breath tickles her.

She sighs against him.

For her it's different though. Her heart and her mind find something (someone) they seem to be unanimous about.

The man clutching her to him resides in both.

He has found his way into those two parts of the human anatomy she used to believe, know, that never could agree on anything.

Heart (passion for him) versus mind (memories of him, of them), she doesn't know if she could ever choose now.

**77. Falling**

"What are you doing to me?"

**78. Collide**

In Helena, it pours. The roads are slippery and the speed limit is lowered.

Hotch drives with the local detective in the passenger seat.

She is on speaker, informing him of the possible new leads she and Morgan find.

Then the car is side swept from driver's seat.

Metal against metal is heard.

The line dies.

Her heart drops.

**79. Luck**

Hotch gets (very) lucky. (The local detective he was with is lucky too.)

He has three visible cuts. There's one above his left eye is the worse since that required eight stitches. Then there's the one on his temple. That one required on three stitches and a large white bandage. And the one on his chin is just a simple scratch. That should heal in a few days he doesn't question. Under his right eye the tired circle normally there becomes more visible with a purple tint. His back hurts like hell when he moves too quickly. He had a minor concussion, but it's better now. There's a black and blue approximately the size of her hand on his left arm. The muscles in his legs cramped up for a while, but now they are good too. He has the small orange bottle of pain medication ready on the nightstand he must take for a while.

But still, he's okay.

She knocks on his door when it's three minutes to midnight. After carefully pushing himself off the bed, Hotch lets her in (he's very aware that she had avoided his concerned eyes and him since this afternoon). And the first thing Emily does when the door is shut behind them is wrap her arms around him, burying her head into the crook of his neck.

He tells her he's okay.

**80. Understatement**

She lies on her left side on his bed because when he lies on his left side; the pain increases a bit more. So the right side Hotch lies with just about an inch separating them. One hand is tucked beneath her cheek while the other trembles; barely grazing on his chest against the worn out cotton shirt he wears. She has refused to look at him once more. But he wants her to though.

"Emily..."

He keeps his voice as low and soft as possible, but the stillness encompassing them nevertheless shatters with her name.

"Look at me."

A moment passes and another coax from him before she does finally though. And in the shadowy glow of the bedside light, he sees her watery eyes. Emily wills the water not to fall though, but she makes no effort to raise her hands to wipe them away. She doesn't have the strength to.

(With the job comes the possibility of anything happening. They are all good at their jobs. They're some of the best. She knows this. Yet a bullet to the head or a blade to the heart can be expected. It can happen, she argues. But someone running through a red light into the driver's side when it pours on the way back to the station, she does not foresee because that can happen anywhere to anyone. She just never pictured it happening to him.)

"You scared me today."

She feels something else wanting to be said, but that's the only thing she is able to whisper.

**81. Perfection**

Perfection

It's overrated.

That was what she had convinced herself a long while ago.

She had been through obstacles and dealt with enough shit from so many people that she knew it didn't exist (for her and for everyone else not to forget).

Everyone keeps striving for it. Everyone keeps searching for it. Everyone keeps craving it.

But it can't be achieve, it can't be found and no one can be satisfied because perfection doesn't exist in the world.

**82. One**

She shudders when (every time) his fingertips glide along her spine, almost counting the bones he and she share.

He finds his way into her soon, his hands on her delicate hips as she clings onto him from under his arms.

Then they move together, hips rocking against one another, fast or slow it never matters because what they're doing when they're together whether it is in her room or his room, here or there, they are always one.

**83. Words**

The words are on the edge of his tongue when she's releasing shallow pants underneath him. Her face is a state of bliss. Her cheeks are rosy and her lips are swollen with the similar shade. He grunts as her eyelids flutter for a moment more when she feels herself clench up around him once last time, squeezing whatever is left of him out.

And those words, they're begging, jumping (up and down, back and forth) and waiting to be spoken when he is marveling at the sight below him. In a whisper, in a steady voice, in a chant or even a scream, they don't care.

They only want to be heard.

But he will not allow it (yet).

**84. Corrected**

When Emily wakes up in her room with silver crescent moon lightly shining through; she finds his sleeping face beside her. She thinks he looks very peaceful in his deep slumber. He's relaxed, and those wrinkles that appear on his forehead when the sun is out are no more because he's not worried and stressed at the moment. He's not burdened with finding the monsters that haunt the corners of the world. Those few lines that reside on the corner of his eyes are soften. She's never told him when she looks him longer than she should that those lines at the corner of his eyes have become her second favorites. Her first favorites are the dimples on his face when he gives her his smile.

She hears his sound and stable breaths in the room and she likes (loves) that hum flowing into her ears.

And when she finds herself staring at him in the natural glow of the night until her own eyelids become heavy once again like it did hours ago when she first fell asleep next to him, Emily thinks she may have been corrected.

Perfection (in his own way because of all he's doing to her, all he's making her feel and think about) is right beside her.

**85. Define**

She knows the word well. It was learned at the tender age of three.

The word came out her mouth in a sweet sing song melody when she placed kisses on her father's cheek as a child. It rolled out effortlessly when she used to hug her grandfather before leaving the cabin up in the snowy mountains during the winters. She remembers the rare, but nice, times she ever spoke that word to her mother. And presently, she would find herself throwing the word around at whatever new amazement Garcia found.

Other than those times Emily recalls, that word is not in her vocabulary to use.

But then she looks at him, close with their bodies together or far because they stand in a room with a dozen other people, the word that is not suppose to be in her vocabulary appears.

It is appears on the center of her heart, the back of her tongue ready to come out and the side of her brain.

Then she brings herself to silently read over the word in her head that now appears on her vocabulary list. It registers more differently than she had memorized it last.

And when Emily shifts her pupils carefully to the right, her head is spinning as the organ located in her chest pounds fierce and quick at the simple definition.

Him.

**86. Goodnight**

In Greenville County three weeks later, two boys, both age seven, are murdered with a third, age six, still missing.

On day two on the case when they have found only three new pieces of evidence, he and she are sitting on lookout on a man they think who looks good for the case.

His phone rings in the silence and in the dark, and he answers it without looking. She watches as his face softens.

"Hey buddy."

Jack.

And just as quick as she has seen his face soften, Emily turns away from it, returning her attention back to the house that is their focus. She doesn't want to disturb him with her eyes.

(She can't stop from listening to his whispers and the muffles from the other end though.)

"It's late…no… but I'm going to." He nods even if it can't be seen. "Promise…so am I." His chuckle fills the car. "I'll see you in a few days… goodnight, buddy." He chuckles lightly again with his ending words.

She keeps quiet for a few minutes longer before she peers over her shoulder to the left. The sad smile is evident on his face, his thumb gently brushing against the screen of the phone.

"Is everything okay?" She nearly regrets breaking the silence asking him this.

Hotch says nothing for a while, his gaze staying on the item in his palm. And when he finally looks back up, he finds her continuing stare.

"Yeah…everything is fine."

He smiles weakly (her face is filled with the subtle concern and he imagines if that's how he looks when he is wondering and a little- or a lot- worried about her).

"He just wanted to say goodnight."

**87. Reassurance**

When it's too late in the night and they are stripped of everything they own, her long naked legs are over his under the beige comforter. She has her arm draped across his warm chest. Her head is besides his, her chin right above his shoulder as she watches him because he's motionless with arms at his side while staring up at the white ceiling.

He has his nightmares as well. He's never told her though. And sometimes when the nightmare resurfaces, which occurs no matter where he sleeps at, he thinks back to that night in Colorado. Not when she informed her of her own nightmare, but that night in the hotel bar when she turned to him with the bitter and angry tone asking him if he talked about them, his own nightmares.

The answer is no. No, he doesn't. Not since that afternoon in the hospital to Rossi, he doesn't talk about them to anyone.

But at the moment, he doesn't have to because she knows already. He doesn't have to tell her the nightmare in his head. When she is staring at him long enough, she knows what he's thinking and how he's feeling because this nightmare she is well aware of occurs when he is awake and asleep.

Emily tilts her head, nudging him just a little out of his doubts and thoughts.

Hotch turns to her, the small smile faltering as soon as it even forms. But the one she offers, the one that is sweet and a bit hopeful because that is what he needs, stays intact as she whispers what doesn't run through his head enough times.

"You're doing everything you can. He loves you. You're a good father."

She means it and he sees it, nodding against the pillow before twisting his concentration back to the ceiling. Silence fills the room soon as she finds herself pressing her lips to his shoulder because she's aware that there is no medicine that can make him feel better when he misses his son. The warm gesture she gives him causes no motions from him as they allow the stillness to rise up once more.

And when her eyes begin to shut because she is a little tired and because she assumes he will not talk, his calm and hoarse voice surprises her, "You ever think about it?"

Her eyes are not slow opening back to him as she inquires gently, "About what?"

"Kids."

Her heartbeat quickens, her eyes enlarging unconsciously at the lone word.

(She wants them. She doesn't know if she would succeed in that role, but she will not lie, she cannot lie for the straightforward reason that she wants them. One or three, she will be happy with whatever number greater than zero is granted her way. But at her age and with the job and the reminder of herself at the age of fifteen and what she had done, she doesn't think kids can be in her future. And it's one aspect she believes she should start grasping.)

Emily feels her throat constrict momentarily before hesitantly answering (lying), "I don't know… maybe…. someday."

He nods once more, and the quiet resumes once again.

They stay frozen, but her eyes do not leave him as the question continues to linger on in her head. For the briefest moment in that quiet they were sinking into with the closeness of their bodies (and hearts), she ignores the aspect of the impossible and pictures the possibility of his question with _him_.

Her heart flutters.

And when Emily shifts her eyes downcast momentarily to her arm across his chest, feeling the subtle beats of his heart beneath her palm, Hotch finally brings his eyes back to her. She senses it and returns the motion, still wondering about the image prancing in the depth of her head and making her heart thump too much. He covers the hand over his heart, feeling the softness of her flesh to the coarseness of his. The small smile that faltered earlier recurs and to her surprise, remains as he speaks in his gentle and certain manner.

"You… I think you'll be a good mother."

That he doesn't doubt.

**88. Stamp**

That word with that definition will not leave her head, her heart, and the back of her tongue. She thinks it's stamped there now (permanently perhaps). Because every time he wraps his arms around her, every time he smiles and laughs without hesitation when it's only the two of them, every time she feels him put his head (face) down to the damp area right above the space between her breasts, breathing her in right after both they come, and every time he studies her too closely before kissing her tenderly, she feels that word with that definition tugging close behind eager to push through her mouth as her heart prepares to pound out of her chest.

But her tongue she bites down forcefully as her hand she settles over her chest before anything is said, before anything comes out unexpectedly because she doesn't know if it's time yet.

**89. Views**

In Sacramento, Hotch decides (in his head) that one of his favorite views of her is when he's flat on his back naked. He watches (feels) as she straddles him on the hips.

He likes (loves) staring up at her from this angle. The dim lights would hit her in a way that makes him unable to stop looking (even without this specific angle of the light, he still has trouble pulling away). Her face would be flushed, from their activities or because her face is no more of her make up (it's a mixture of both tonight), he notices the flickering sparks in her brown eyes.

And this time in the capital, she is wearing only a shirt (hers; the shirt is a little loose, softening the contours of her body) and nothing else. Her hair is slightly disheveled because each time she straddles him, he notices how she runs her slim and delicate fingers through her thick and silky strands of hair.

His hands find his way to her bent long ivory legs, crawling up and feeling her smooth thighs before his fingers find the hem of the shirt she wears in the night. Emily chuckles low and softly when he gives it a quick tug before his hands maneuver to her hips. He's pulling her up towards him (he wants her closer). And as she moves from his hips passed his scarred torso until she's near his chest, he feels her heat drag across his skin.

She has her warm hands pressed tenderly on his strong chest, the palm of her right hand just above his heart. She feels the beating; a steady rhythm she knows well now.

He travels a path up; grazing the sides of covered her breasts, sweeping slowly up her neck before he reaches his destination, cupping her face in his hand. The other hand remains on her waist. His thumb brushes against her cherry and swollen bottom lip, and in an instant, a sweet grin is bestowed upon him. As fast as Emily grants him the smile however, it disappears when she gently sucks on top of his thumb, her tongue peeking out by just the tip to swirl around the end. And just so easily Hotch begins to feel jolts in his body created by the small, but impacting gesture.

Then her hands slide up and off his body, finding the space on either side of his neck. His senses are tingling as she brings herself down to him, covering him and his naked form. He rakes his hand into her hair. The worn out cotton is rubbed into his exposed flesh while she takes his lips slowly, ready to give him more reasons to list in his mind why when she is above him is his favorite view of her.

**90. Melt**

The position that he finds is his favorite is hers as well.

This little slice of information of hers is kept in the top right corner of her heart though.

Emily doesn't whisper to him that she likes (loves) this view of him below her for the reason that if she lies down at the moment no matter where they are, she will be laying (melting) down into him.

**91. Need**

"What do you need?"

"You."

**92. Instant**

He touches her; she lets out quiet sighs as her eyes follow his movements.

He kisses her; she lets out muffled whimpers with her fingers threading through his hair.

He tastes her; she lets out high pants while keeping his head in position so he can reach deeper.

He penetrates into her; she lets out strangling low moans from the back of her throat when she doesn't say his name.

When he does all this to her, Emily loses herself and finds them in an instant.

**93. Anything**

What is in front of him (this puzzle, them) is nearly finished. He estimates now that about three dozen or so pieces are left. His heart palpitates a little faster when he scrutinizes over the remaining scattered parts of her, him and them. Those pieces he hopes will turn out how he wants (almost needs) them to. But he remembers that this is, they are, remain a surprise.

Anything can still happen, he reminds himself.

**94. Fourteen**

In Charlotte, there is man who keeps his victims (thirteen of them with the fourteenth still missing) in a warehouse before a single bullet goes right to the back of their heads.

And on the fifth day, it's close to ten at night when they finally find him and victim number fourteen's possible location. She is right beside him, their footsteps quiet and cautious as they tread through the darkness from the back of the warehouse (Morgan and Rossi take the front). Hotch whispers quietly, directing her to go left. And with a swift nod to one another, they separate.

His heart pumps, his adrenaline runs, and his eyes do not stay still. He hears Rossi's voice through his ear piece minutes later. The fourteenth victim has been found alive. But he continues to turn one corner and another.

"Don't move."

His footsteps have been quiet and cautious as well.

"You're surrounded. Every exit, every window is covered."

Hotch keeps his voice leveled.

"I'm not afraid. You should be though."

Three steps until the cold metal is forced to the back of his head just like with all thirteen victims.

"You can shoot me. But I can guarantee you will not leave here alive either."

The condescending laugh echoes in the darkness.

"I never shot a cop before."

And from behind a shot rings.

The bullet enters right to the back of the head.

That's victim number fourteen.

**95. Dead**

The man is dead. He stares at him.

There are applauses.

Her eyes are dead. He stares at her.

There is silence.

**96. Panic**

It's late, a quarter to one in the morning now. The flight will be at eight in the morning, so he spends the last thirteen minutes cleaning up, folding the shirts and packing the pants, giving her some time before proceeding to her because she simply sits on his bed. Her back is against the headboard while her gaze scans the lowly lit room, landing at anything and everything except for him.

When he walks to the left of the room, her eyes turn to the right. When he walks to the right of the room, her eyes turn to the left.

(He had called twice, knocked on her door four times and she didn't answer any of those times. But then she showed up fourteen minutes ago and when he had opened the door for her, she carefully walked into the room without touching him; her eyes plainly eluding his, her voice never heard all the while she made her way to the bed, sitting herself on the side she had slept in the previous night.)

And there she has remained with her hands resting on her thighs.

Not one word to him. Not a glance at him. Not a single move towards him.

(It's not because she doesn't want to. It's because she doesn't know if she can. She doesn't want to break.)

But now he stands by the dresser next to his go bag because the last shirt has been folded neatly and the final pair of pants has been packed away. His attention swings to her. She's staring at her hands, now clasped like a child's, her thumb trembling, but lightly stroking the other. With slow steps and a heavy sigh, Hotch starts moving to her. Emily bites her bottom, knowing what will be next. She turns her head instantly to the right, away from him and that incessant stare of his that is coming nearer.

The bed shifts as he sits on the edge beside her, placing his hand over hers. Her stroking movements halt immediately but her refusal to look at him continues to stand. In the loud silence for minutes, he alternates his stare between the face she is trying to hide and the hand he placed over hers. And then he moves a little closer to her, his arm sliding around her waist as he manages to detach her from the headboard that supports her up because once in his embrace, she feels almost boneless. Her eyes begin to sting at the contact. He pushes their bodies together. She reaches up, grasping his shirt in her fist. Hotch threads his fingers up and into her hair as he leans his face into the side of hers. Then for a moment he's motionless, breathing her in slowly (she smells like everything now- magnolias with coconut and a touch of vanilla even if there is no rain) before his lips slightly pursed, bestowing a kiss on her cold cheek.

For another long moment they are frozen. He wants (needs) her to feel (know) he's okay (again).

When his hand starts rubbing her back, Emily feels her head, her heart being ripped through by a tsunami. She wets her lips. Her eyes are blurring now. And then she (finally) asks, her voice breathless and barely audible, "Are you okay?"

Though his face remains against hers, Hotch feels the faintest smile (he should be asking her this, not the other way around) forming when he replies huskily, "Yeah… I'm okay."

With this he pulls himself slowly from her face, turning her head little by little to him, needing to prove to her that he truly is because he's aware she's not currently. Her grasp of his shirt tenses. Like that night in Helena, he coaxes her to look at him. And when Emily very reluctantly but (finally) looks at him, she feels her insides screaming at once. The hand of his untangles from her hair, instantly cradling her face, pulling it back to his, face to face now with their foreheads glued together with her fearful shaking eyes fixed on him as she tries to suppress the oncoming sobs pleading to be let out.

"I'm okay."

His words are useless. Compartmentalizing would not work now. Those boarders, those walls of hers have been cracked, ready to be broken through.

"I can't…"

Her heart is aching. Her head is spinning. Her lungs are shutting down. And in his hold she shakes her head, attempting to find a way to smile or to laugh for him, for herself, but finding both unsuccessful.

"Shhh…"

Just like that, the calm of him she cannot handle and cannot understand at the moment, those borders, her walls are broken through, falling hard and fast down to the ground as she lets out her first cry.

"I love you."

And what Hotch finds on the other side, behind those borders, behind her walls, is her, raw with her heart in her palms just for him.

**97. Release**

The other half of that beauty, the final piece of this puzzle (them) he sees now, is when the uncertainty that surrounds her (them) is finally gone.

**98. You**

She doesn't (can't) hold it back anymore. When he holds her face to his, their bodies too close, her emotions blended uncontrollably, and all she finds herself doing is inhaling that scent of him, the something woodsy and coffee with the tiniest hint of peppermint she can never wash away from her skin or erase from her head, she thinks about the what if and feels the trigger behind her finger once again.

It is impossible to stop. It is impossible to deny.

And Emily doesn't want to anymore either.

Every word in the tiny phrase is solid in her head, in her heart, on the back of her tongue and out her mouth because she shows him the stamp now.

She wants (needs) him to know.

Her tears are warm on the end of his thumb. And through them, the increasing blur of her eyes, she sees the upward curve of his mouth. Faint and gentle (she even distinguishes the dimples) it appears before Hotch softly seizes her lips in his, tasting the saltiness of her tears as another cry escapes.

Just like before (aside from her slight trembles of her body against his) they stay frozen. Her face remains cradled by his hand and pressed to his face while he does nothing but caress her damp cheeks, wiping the falling tears with his thumb and waiting for them and her sobs to subside.

As time elapses (he's unsure for how long for the simple reason is that he doesn't care), he says nothing. He only clutches her to him, hoping she sees, feels that he is there because of her.

And when the final tear slides down her cheek accompanies the one last sniffle from her nose, Emily begins to feel everything in her slowly die down as she whispers quietly alongside his mouth, "I'm sorry."

He feels his heart tug and another small smile forming immediately at the apology he knows nothing of. His thumbs continues stroking her cheeks while quietly reassuring her, "You're okay…I'm okay."

She finds herself nodding. Her head is still spinning, but her heart, she measures now, hurts a little less. She lightly pushes her mouth to his momentarily before turning her head to the side and kissing the palm of his hand. And like she had done for most part of the night, Emily looks around the area beside her and not at him.

(In the back of her mind, she remembers her words. She means them. And if he doesn't, if not now, she thinks she'll be okay because she told him. All she wanted- needed- to do was to tell him, and she did with no regrets because with him, with how she feels for him, with what she wants with him, with them now, she regrets nothing.)

His eyes remain on her though, focused intently on the face with the tear stain cheeks because one hand still cradles her face and his shirt is still in her grasp. They find themselves in a silence until he leans forward two inches, touching his lips to her now warm cheek. This takes her out of her trance and prompts her to twist her gaze back to him. The remaining water in her tear ducts gradually dries now. He offers her a soft smile, his thumb brushing beneath her red and swollen eyes (the fear is still present) yet for the first time of the night, she gives him a smile in return. It's small like his and weary, but Hotch wants nothing more than that.

"It's late."

The short whispered statement she understands clearly because it sounds good now. Sleep. Being close to him and having him hold her in his arms to feel nothing but peace while their legs are one over another, Emily wants nothing more than that at the moment. Releasing his shirt, she kicks her boots off before moving back while he pulls the slept in covers of last night to the side so she can slip under. And when her head is laid down on the pillow, the covers are tugged over her shoulders as she turns to curl on her right side, Hotch reaches for the lamp on the nightstand. But her gentle voice stops him, requesting for it to be left on.

Just for tonight, if he doesn't mind, she'd rather keep the light when they sleep.

He smiles slightly above her before kicking off his own shoes, climbing into the bed and under the covers. On the left side he lays, he brings her into his arms, no space between them with a hand resting on the small of her back, slowly rubbing the delicate area. Her lips press to his neck while her hands settle against his warm chest, one hand near the heart she feels beating in a constant rhythm. In a matter of seconds, wrapped in his arms, having the relaxing motion from his hand, feeling the heartbeat under her touch and the bed and him swallowing her entire body, Emily feels the exhaustion of the night rapidly attack her. She exhales inaudibly beside him, her eyes getting heavy and falling.

"Emily…"

His voice causes her eyes to open. Solid and soft his eyes are now (for a minute she recalls his eyes being the same way that night of their first dinner when he whispered to her that she looked beautiful). He lowers his head an inch to connect to her mouth to his own. It's tender and sweet. And once his lips part from hers, their gazes meeting once more, Hotch whispers without anything but certainty in his tone, in his head and in his heart what she cried.

"I love you."

Her heartbeat quickens, and the hands on his chest tenses a little. But his heart, the beats she continues to feel, remains ever stable. With their unbroken stare, her eyes begin to burn. But for another first time of the night in the lowly lit room, he sees the fear in her eyes steadily fade away. She offers him another smile (it's a little wider and a little less weary) through the building tears he notices again before he drops a soft kiss on her forehead. Her head bows seconds later, tucking beneath his chin. His embrace of her tightens. Their legs entwine underneath the covers. And with one quiet but relief sigh escaping from him and her, they close their eyes and surrender to the slumber and each other.

**99. Masterpiece**

This puzzle, he was correct, is something.

It's complete now.

It's nothing but them.

It's beautiful, overwhelming even.

A masterpiece if someone asks him _and_ her because she stands beside him now, holding his hand, fingers intertwining and leaning on him, looking at this, looking at them without the nervousness in their bodies and the trepidation in their hearts and minds they used to feel.

Something and everything he has learned about her, he loves. Something and everything he makes her feel and imagine about, she cannot deny.

The fragments of each other and the moments together, they all fit flawlessly.

And when they take a quick glimpse behind them, they see more of them (puzzles), boxes of fragments, of moments waiting to be built. Each without a guide and each as another surprise to come, and each, he doesn't doubt and she doesn't argue, will be something better than the last. So with her hand in his still and their steps together, they make their way to start and finish one (and more) together.

**100. Fin**

End.


End file.
